Moved
The breeze — her hair — held pink-white snow. She knew her lines and said them well. Now her leaves hide not her nakedness. And she — so kind — that I — should know. April 4, 2020 [ 716 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Love’
Summary
To write my whole life and discover I am not the library, Or even the book, but the bookmark, And then to feel your breath, your fingertips, your hand. [ 715 ]
Someone
When the morning sun reveals every grain of dust on my desk, and papers, and books, I see oxen and stars. Random Note, April 1, 2010 Someone Someone sewing masks. Someone dropping bombs. Someone preaching hatred. Someone washing hands. Someone lights a candle. Someone whispers love. [ 713 ]
The Books by My Bed
This is a very old poem, from a lost, undated manuscript, which was later typed on my old Royal and also lost, or likely discarded. Earlier today I found I’d included it in an entry of One Hand Clapping, the lines divided by slashes. It’s a curiosity at best. As no other record exists, I’ll file it here for gentle guests and future laughs. March 29, 2020 The Books […]
After You
My friend, if you can’t find the good news, be the good news. “Medium” Recently Banned Literature, March 8, 2017 After You You birds at the feeder, heedless of fate — Believe me, I share the same faith, And as long as you preach thus, I’m willing to wait. [ 707 ]
In the Garden
Salt on a sparrow’s tail, and a world of things unseen — Dear one — your hand — is shaking — [ 704 ]
The Wise Old Man
Autobiography is the strangest thing. It’s about everything, and nothing, and no one, and everyone, all at the same time. To be of use — is there anything more to ask? March 23, 2020 The Wise Old Man The wise old man noticed he was hungry. Then he remembered he had no food. “Ah, yes,” he said, “there is that.” A very serious-looking man entered his hut. “You owe […]
Love, Look at the Two of Us
A seed, breaking through hard ground. Human seeds, all around. What this poor poet has so long tried to say, is expressed far more eloquently by the beautiful virus in our midst. Beautiful? Yes. For this is how a mother reminds her children when they heedlessly, carelessly forget — that we — are all — connected. For this, and for all things, she has my gratitude. Seen by my wife […]
Bring the Blossom
The doves were here again today. They have visited the fig tree about five times now. And the cherry trees have started to snow. Their petals are like pages, where poetry goes. March 21, 2020. Afternoon. Bring the Blossom As a child knows to scratch the ground just where the earth most needs it, love brings the blossom down to please it — love, bring the blossom, my vow […]
Begging Bowl
I will be the cherry tree, and you will never know. March 20, 2020. Afternoon. [ 700 ]
William Michaelian 